The Case of the Backward Mule

Nineteen

The eight-room apartment of Ricardo Taonon was furnished with objects of Oriental art. Some of these were museum pieces, carved ivories and polished jades. The place might well have been the residence of a wealthy Hong Kong merchant. And in this setting Daphne Taonon assumed an assurance of manner which held just a trace of condescension. Apparently Inspector Malloy was impressed, despite himself.

Mrs. Taonon said to Inspector Malloy, “Let’s understand each other right at the start. Mr. Clane told me you were looking for me, that you wanted to question me.”

“That’s right.”

“He came to me and started to ask questions. These two friends of his, the Chinese man and, I understand, his daughter, were with him.”

“Very interesting,” Malloy said. “How did he know where to find you?”

“I don’t know.”

Malloy turned to Clane and raised his eyebrows.

“Deductive reasoning,” Clane said.

“Very, very interesting,” Inspector Malloy observed. “I’ll ask you more about that after a while. In the meantime, I want to talk with Mrs. Taonon. By the way, did Mr. Clane say what the police wanted to ask you about?”

“My husband’s death.”

“Well, well, well,” Malloy said. “And how did Mr. Clane know that your husband was dead?”

“I don’t know. He told me that my husband had been — killed.”

“Murdered?”

“I gathered that was what he meant.”

“Well, now,” Malloy said, “perhaps that deductive reasoning of Mr. Clane’s has gone a lot farther than I had thought at the time. You see, Mr. Clane himself had been under suspicion and we gave him a clean bill of health only a short time ago because we thought he’d told us all he knew. But it seems he knew your husband had been murdered and he knew where to find you to tell you about it.”

“Isn’t that the truth?”

“What?”

“About my husband?”

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. When was the last time you saw him?”

“Last night.”

“Perhaps you can fix it a little closer than that as to time?”

“About ten o’clock. He was called to the telephone.”

“Know who was talking?”

“No.”

“And what happened?”

“My husband seemed very much excited, very much put out about something. He also seemed a little alarmed. He put on his hat and coat and went out.”

“And didn’t come back?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“By the way, where were you?”

“I went out.”

“Where?”

She said, “A friend of my husband’s telephoned and was very anxious to see him. He asked me to drive him to a place where I thought my husband might be. I drove him there.”

“Find your husband?”

“No.”

“Who was this friend of your husband’s?”

“I prefer not to answer that question.”

“Not some friend of yours?”

“I said that he was a friend of my husband. His friendship for me was incidental.”

“And how long were you gone?”

“Well, after I left that friend, I did some things on my own.”

“What?”

She shook her head.

“What time did you get back?”

“Some time this morning.”

“Left your car here and then you yourself left almost immediately?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Where this gentleman found me.”

“And where was that?”

She met Inspector Malloy’s eyes. “It was in a cheap Chinese hotel,” she said. “I was registered under the name of Mrs. George L. Brown and I had used the best disguise I could on a moment’s notice. I tried to make myself look like one of the women who frequent places of that sort.”

“Why?”

“Because I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Malloy said, “You came back to this apartment in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“And how soon did you leave?”

“Within five minutes.”

“Not in your car?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I had no place to leave my car. I wanted to go where I couldn’t be traced.”

“Again why?”

“Because I tell you I was frightened.”

“You weren’t frightened until you came back here and found your husband wasn’t here?”

“Well... perhaps so, yes.”

“How long was it after your husband left before you left?”

“Not very long.”

“I’m afraid I’ve got to know what frightened you,” Malloy said.

“That is a personal matter.”

“And it wasn’t until Mr. Clane told you your husband was dead that you were willing to come back?”

“I don’t see that that follows.”

“But after you heard he was dead, you came back.”

“You can, of course, put it that way if you want to.”

Malloy turned back to Clane and said, “Now every time I run into a blind alley, you seem to be lurking in the shadows. You and this Chinese girl. Now suppose you tell me...”

The telephone rang.

Mrs. Taonon answered it. “It’s for you, Inspector.”

Malloy sighed wearily, postponed his questioning, got up and lumbered across the room to the telephone, picked up the receiver, said, “Yeah, this is Malloy.”

He listened for several seconds while the party at the other end of the line apparently poured out a steady stream of conversation. Then Malloy said, “Uh-huh,” and then after a moment asked, “Where?”

Again there was a period of silence, broken at length by Malloy, who said, “All right, I’m up here. Bring your party up here... Yeah, I’ll do it here. G’bye.”

He hung up the receiver, walked back to his chair, settled himself comfortably, bit the tip off the end of a cigar and said, quite casually, “All of this stuff interests me. How Clane knew where he could go and find you right away. You any idea how he knew where you were, Mrs. Taonon?”

“No, I had never met him before. To the best of my knowledge I had never seen him in my life.”

“Him and this Chinese girl,” Malloy said, shaking his head. “They certainly do get around.” Then he added, all in the same breath, “That call was from police headquarters. They found your husband.”

“His body?”

“Your husband. Seems he was hiding too.”

“Where?”

“San Jose, in an auto court. You see, we thought we might find Edward Harold located in an auto court somewhere so we put out a dragnet. And, because we thought your husband might have driven him down to the auto court, we broadcast a description of your husband. Your husband didn’t drive Harold down to an auto court.”

“No?” she asked courteously.

“No.”

“And you say my husband’s alive?”

“Very much alive.”

She whirled to Clane. “What the devil were you trying to do?” she demanded.

Clane, at a loss for an answer, sat silent.

“No,” Inspector Malloy said calmly, “your husband didn’t take Edward Harold down the peninsula and put him in an auto court. You did that.”

She looked at the police inspector with the defiance of a trapped animal.

“But now,” Malloy said, “I’ve got to find out why you hid and why your husband went down the peninsula a good half to three-quarters of an hour in advance of your trip. Couldn’t have been because you stayed behind to kill George Gloster, could it?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“That package of groceries that we found down there in the room at the warehouse where Edward Harold had been concealed. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Certainly not.”

Malloy’s eyes were kindly but insistent. “Your grocer,” he said, “tells a different story.”

Color rushed to her face, then faded from it. Twice she tried to speak, but no words came out.

“So,” Inspector Malloy went on, “unless you make some satisfactory explanation, we’re going to have to hold you for investigation, which is just about the same in this instance as dumping a murder charge in your lap, Mrs. Taonon.”

She smiled at him. “Dump a murder charge in my lap,” she said, “and it will bounce right back and hit you in the face.”